Welcome back, come on in and pull up a chair. Poor Mr. Clint Hawks has discovered he doesn't have the control over Samantha like he thought. So, like any other red blooded male from 1868 he decides to...

Samantha scraped the rest of her uneaten meal into the fire and threw in a few more pieces of wood to keep it going. Deciding even although he was rude, his advice was probably good to heed following it she stepped out of the cabin and headed for the outhouse. When she returned, Clint was sitting at the table playing cards. Not knowing what else to do, she pulled out the opposite chair and sat while watching him and trying to get up enough nerve to ask him about the others.

“Black six on the red seven,” she said telling him how she’d play the card.

“What?”he asked, with the un-played cards in his hand and an annoyed look on his face.

“Black six on the red seven. You missed a play.” After seeing the look on his face, Samantha wished she’d remained silent and prepared herself for a snide remark in return.

“Oh, yeah. Thanks.”

“Mr. Hawks, When do think George will get here? I’m getting a little worried.”

“Ain’t nothin’ to worry yourself about ma’am. You’re safe with me.”

“Oh, I know, eh, but still it’s not right. With me being here alone with you that is.”

Clint put the cards down, walked to the door and slid the bar across it, then went to the shelf and reached for the whiskey bottle. Joining her back at the table, he moved the cards toward her.

“You play for a while and I’ll just watch,” he said.

“I...” “Play!”

Samantha picked up the cards and began playing. He stood up looking around. Finding what he wanted, he returned with two glasses. He filled one half full and the other he filled with just a splash. “You know how to play rummy?” he asked, as he swigged half his drink down. “Yes, okay, let’s play,” she said. They played for a while before he asked, “So tell me, how did you meet my step, eh, high stepping boss? You ever taste whiskey?” he asked with a challenging sneer before she could answer his first question. “No, of course not, a lady doesn't indulge in hard drink.” “The ladies I know do. Your daddy don't think you're woman enough to handle it?” Before she could answer he asked her another question. “I bet you're never even been allowed to gamble with cards either? I bet your daddy didn't think you were smart enough to do that?”

“I will have you know—sir. I do to know how to bet and I have won a few times. So there.” “Okay, I bet you're not woman enough to hold your liquor. I win this hand, I get to drink it. You win, you get to drink it.” She eyed the glass as it only held a splash.How bad could it be? I always wondered why men seemed to take to it so much?

The Stepbrothers will go on sale October 17th watch for it.Thank for stopping by and please do come again.Oh, before you go, could you be sweet and send a tweet.If you want to leave a comment I'd love to from you.Lisa Day

This is Lisa's first Sample Sunday. Thank you for coming.Lisa writes stories for Rebel Ink Press and she writes the kind of story with just a taste of sensuality. Hope you enjoy.

The Excerpt:Piercing sounds reverberated across the station as metal wheels strained and scraped against the railroad tracks while the massive machine chugged slowly to its final stop. The noise of Engine number 134, built only a year earlier in 1867, was jarring.

The engineer released the engine’s stream pressure which formed white clouds mixed with the black soot laden smoke the engine emitted. This only added to the picture as excited passengers rushed to disembark and others tried to climb aboard to take their places.

No one paid attention to Clint Hawks leaning against the crates piled near the corner of the railway station's building, which was how he wanted it. Even with a good, healthy stare anyone would assume he was just another wrangler fresh in from the last cattle drive.

“Geesh, he sure can pick 'em,” Clint mumbled under his breath.

Straightening up, he spit and headed into the crowd. He walked toward a young woman who’d just disembarked the train and began walking down the station’s long wooden platform. She was occupied with jostling through the crowd as he came up behind her, picking up his pace and leaning around her to gain her attention.

“Miss Culpepper?” he said.

She stopped short and Clint mimicked her movement.

Her nervousness showed as her eyes searched the crowd looking for a champion if needed. Finding none, she straightened her back and stared eye to eye with the stranger. “Yes? Do I know you?”

“No ma'am. But I’d know you anywhere. The boss, I mean Mr. Keever, sent me to fetch ya.” He tipped his hat to the woman.

“Oh? He’s not meeting me in Madison like he told me?”

“Ah, no ma’am. His plans changed. Some’n ‘bout rustlers.”

Clint’s gaze danced back and forth between her innocent looking eyes and the strands of reddish brown hair that had come loose from her hair restraints to blow freely in the breeze.

A vision of innocence...stay focused.

Pushing the wild strands of hair from her cheek for the third time, she asked, “Am I supposed to wait here then?”

“Ah, no ma'am. I'm supposed to escort you to him.”

Her nose lifted and she stood a bit taller. “Well ah, what did you say your name was?”

“Sorry, ma'am. I didn’t.” He tipped his hat again with a slight bow.“It’s Clint ma'am, Clint Hawks.”

“Well, Mr. Clint Hawks, my chaperone fell ill during the last meal stop and had to be taken to the doctor there. She’ll join me in a few days if able to. I came on alone since this would be the last stop before I reached Madison. I’m not sure if I should….”

“Ma’am, you know the boss, he felt he could trust me with you. Don’t you think you should trust his judgment, too?” Clint cut her off and held his hat pitiful like against his belly. With his eyes pleading for her understanding he continued. “This is the west, who would protect you better from danger—your chaperone, or a man like me and my gun?”

“Mr. Hawks, I see your point. My fiancé has my full trust. Shall we go?”

Not too shabby for a day’s work. No chaperone to get rid of and now my dear stepbrother’s fiancé is clinging to my arm. You're a devious skunk Clint.

He nodded and tipped his hat to the strangers passing by as if they were taking an afternoon stroll together.

“Sorry, ma'am. I didn’t.” He tipped his hat again with a slight bow.“It’s Clint ma'am, Clint Hawks.”

“Well, Mr. Clint Hawks, my chaperone fell ill during the last meal stop and had to be taken to the doctor there. She’ll join me in a few days if able to. I came on alone since this would be the last stop before I reached Madison. I’m not sure if I should….”

“Ma’am, you know the boss, he felt he could trust me with you. Don’t you think you should trust his judgment, too?” Clint cut her off and held his hat pitiful like against his belly. With his eyes pleading for her understanding he continued. “This is the west, who would protect you better from danger—your chaperone, or a man like me and my gun?”

“Mr. Hawks, I see your point. My fiancé has my full trust. Shall we go?”

Not too shabby for a day’s work. No chaperone to get rid of and now my dear stepbrother’s fiancé is clinging to my arm. You're a devious skunk Clint.

He nodded and tipped his hat to the strangers passing by as if they were taking an afternoon stroll together. ***I hope you enjoyed and will return for more. The Stepbrothers will be available to purchase on Oct 17th at Rebel Ink Press